UnleashYourAnger.com

I loved it when those disposable toilet seat covers started appearing in public restrooms.  What a great invention!  They make me feel like I am doing it at home.  Finally, a way to keep strangers’ butt oil from reaching mine.  Yes, I know the paper is super thin, and pee or whatever is on the seat probably find their way to my rear, but they make me feel good regardless.   What are super cool are the flaps within the circle.  They protect my you-know-what from touching the porcelain and it magically disposes the seat when you flush!  What kind of genius created this impeccable design?!

Then came the automatic flush.  When I walk into the stall, carefully wipe the seat, place the seat cover on, and is about to sit down, more time than not, the toilet flushes – gobbling up my beautifully positioned cover, which was about to give me such comfort.

This is really annoying, really disappointing, and makes me feel completely empty inside (even though I haven’t “emptied” yet).  We all know this feeling of helplessness.  You just stand there, speechless...not knowing what really happened.  “Wait, did I just finish, or was I about to begin?”  The confusion sets in.  You just pause, in a half crouching position, staring at the back of the stall door, speechless, and in complete disbelief. 

Once you snap out of your denial and accept the reality, you collect enough courage to try again.  This time you are more cautious.  (However void of honor, because you already have your pants down by your ankles.) You try to maneuver around the censor on the way down. I don’t know about you guys, but my butt clips the censor, and there goes the cover.  The third try, you try to sit down really fast to fool the censor in thinking that a butt magically appeared.  Once I have it cramped down, it doesn’t even matter if it flushes…right?  Well, we all know that this method is suicide, because even if you are successful at holding down the cover with your butt, if the toilet flushes, you will have a wet posterior – in some cases with the wet flap…well, flapping at your butt.

I guess I just don't get it.  I get the whole idea of going out after a day of skiing and getting plastered, dancing, or whatever else you want to do.  But why on earth do we have to use the french language to express this?  Is English not descriptive enough?  "After Skiing" or "Post Ski" doesn't do the job?

Or were the French the first to think of going out after a hard day of skiing?  Were English-speaking peoples sitting around post-ski playing solitaire when some guy named Jaques came in one day and showed them how to party?  ("Gee, why didn't we think of this?")

I know it's a stupid thing to be ranting about, but it irks me because it sounds so damned pretentious when people say it.  Get real, people!

I have always wondered this and I am sure you have too.  You know all those shopping carts in your condo building.  Those carts that are conveniently there, so you use them to bring your goodies back to your units.   Have you guys wondered how they end up there?

I have lived in Boston a long time (Brighton, Allston, Cambridge, Somerville, Brookline), but every condo I lived in had shopping carts.  Lots and lots of shopping carts.  Carts of all sizes, colors, and stores.  Where in the world do they come from, and why are there so many?  I asked my current property manager, and he told me that he needs to bring them back to the appropriate stores EVERY YEAR, but they all magically appear.   

I recently counted 8 shopping carts in my complex.  8!!  And they are all from different stores (except one).  My condo is not even close to any of these stores.  Shaws is miles away.  Home Depot is on the other side of 93.  I don’t even know where there is Marshalls in Cambridge.  K-Mart?  Didn’t they shrivel away with Martha Stewart?  What the heck is Ames?? (continued - click on "Read More..." below)

Everywhere I look there are dust bunnies!  Just when I think I've vacumed them all up, the next night I'll see one hiding out under the coffee table, or under the TV stand, or something.  Drinking a beer and watching TV.  Not paying me rent.  I just can't keep them away.  And you know as well as I do, once you see one, they start multiplying like... well, like bunnies.

Where do these things come from?  Does all the dust just like to get together and party?  I really don't get it.  Why does all the dust have to stick together like that.  Do they just come inside during the winter to get out of the cold?  Are they spying on me?  Or are they some sort of omen?  And forget whipping out the dust buster on those puppies.  Way too big.  I have to get my shop vac up from the basement to take care of them.  It feels like ghostbusters with their ghost catching machine.

I live in Somerville.  There is a law that residents of houses must clear the sidewalk in front of the house (or is it owners of houses?).  Yet, every morning on my walk to the T, I almost break my neck trying to walk down the sidewalk.  It's not THAT hard to shovel a sidewalk.  If you can't do it, hire someone to do it.  And don't wait until it's frozen over, 3 days later.  Do it while it's snowing! 

Heck, I live on a corner lot with probably 100 feet of sidewalk altogether, and I still manage to get it done.  I'm going to have to start wearing ice skates to the T from now on!

Isn't "Boneless Ribs" kind of an oxymoron?  I thought the rib was the bone.

More importantly, what's the fun of eating ribs without bones in them?  The most satisfying thing about eating ribs is the pile of picked-clean bones on your plate at the end